“I’ve got ten Federal dollars,” she tells the shopkeep. “How many bullets will that buy?”

“I just-a look,” he replies, turning to shove little boxes around on the shelf behind the counter. One of the boxes has eggs in it. “Oh!” cries the shopkeep, diving to keep them from hitting the floor, making eleven miraculous catches, then slipping on the shattered twelfth and going pantaloons-up in a spectacular pratfall that smashes the rest.

Billie’s trigger finger itches, because one of the goddamn harlequins put itching powder on her trigger.